The Beginning of the End
by TrenchcoatsAreSexy
Summary: Walt & Jesse get in way over their heads. Post S4.


**A/N: Written for smallfandomfest. Prompt = Jesse/Walt, the beginning of the end.  
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**The Beginning of the End**

The beginning of the end started the day that Walt and Jesse met Sam Cartwright. Saul had run into some difficulty locating a new distributor – Gus had had the reigns on meth distribution in the area pretty well tied up, and no one had wanted to try and step on his territory, save the cartel – who were also out of the running for at least the time being, considering so many of their key players had dropped dead not so long ago.

Cartwright wasn't a meth distributor by trade, to be completely fair. The man did, however, deal in black market supplies of all kinds. He had started his little enterprise back in high school, selling decent-quality bootlegs of movies and concerts, and had simply moved on up since then. Cuban cigars, customs-free artifacts, all ranges of things people wanted that they weren't supposed to have – Cartwright was known as the man who could get it for them. But not drugs. Not until now.

He didn't quite look the part, and that was perhaps a big reason why he had yet to be caught, or even investigated. He was tall and slim, with blonde, slightly spiky hair and a smile that could charm anyone.

When Walt and Jesse saw the man they were meant to be meeting, Walt considered that Saul had sent them to the wrong guy as a joke. Or maybe the joke was on Saul. Either way, this guy did not look like a criminal mastermind.

_Then again,_ Walt reminded himself, _neither did Gus._

"You're Sam Cartwright?" Walt inquired, hands in his pockets, trying to at least project the image that he had no time to beat around the bush and wanted to get right to business.

"The one and only," Cartwright replied, his own fingers trailing over the dark blue suit he was wearing. _Dapper,_ Walt considered.

"How much would you like from us a week?"

"Two pounds," Cartwright said. "At first. Gotta see how well it goes over with my market. I'm not sure yet – they like not paying full price for their movies, but I don't know yet if they want to stay up for days on end to watch all of them. Might have to scope out a new market – housewives, diet pills, y'know? Every woman thinks they're fat nowadays, might have a market there." Walt sighed, thinking that he could see how this man knew Saul. They seemed cut from a relatively similar cloth.

They haggled back and forth, eventually agreeing on a price that seemed fair to all three parties – they would begin in three weeks, considering Cartwright had no lab of his own.

Walt, luckily, had prepared for this possibility. He already had the necessary took in his hand; he had that ridiculous investment that he had never wanted to chase - he had the car wash.

* * *

><p>Production began like a wheel spins on a car that's been left out to rust and collect dust and fumes, but soon they found their cycle again, their momentum, their process and division of labor.<p>

Walt gave Jesse more power this time, an unconscious apology, maybe, for what he'd had to do to get his partner back. But an apology nonetheless.

He didn't snap at the younger man as much as before, this time, and once or twice even praised him. If Jesse noticed, he didn't let it show through – that was another change, he had become harder to read, more closed off. He no longer asked if Walt would go-kart with him, spend time with him, no longer inquired as to what was going on in the older man's life.

They were split.

* * *

><p>Walt got the news on a Wednesday. It wasn't shocking news; he had suspected it ever since his cough had returned, ever since he had begun to feel that familiar tightening of his chest.<p>

He didn't tell Jesse, nor did he hide it from him. His partner was too wrapped up in his own life, his own family.

His phone flashed – his secret phone, his second phone, the gift from Jesse, well not quite a gift, he'd paid for it – and Walt picked it up.

"We need to talk." It was Cartwright's voice. "Immediately." He hadn't expected that jovial voice, that used-car salesman voice, to have that hint of what he knew to be that edge, that edge that Gus' voice had.

It made him leave immediately.

* * *

><p>When he arrived, there was no preamble.<p>

"Cartel men killed some of my guys." Cartwright's voice was back to being jovial, and maybe that was more terrifying than if it hadn't been.

"I had nothing to do with it. I want our business venture to be successful," Walt replied. He felt as if he were stating the obvious, but decided that it never hurt to point such a thing out. Everyone was a businessman; well, at least, every businessman was a businessman and every businessman could be reasoned with.

"As do I," Cartwright replied. "I've also recently uncovered information that leads me to believe that you have nothing to lose."

How did he get – Walt couldn't hide the surprise from his face. Had Jesse told him? Had he found out from Gus… maybe Cartwright had been in bed with Gus, somehow, a long time now?

"And when someone doesn't have something to lose, it can be best to give them something to lose."

Walt didn't understand at first, not until Cartwright jerked his head to the right and then looked – he followed Cartwright's gaze and it was then that he saw Jesse.

His Jesse.

He was tied up, chained up (_again_), gagged and bound in the corner of the room.

"Let him go." Walt tried to put every ounce of fearlessness, every demand, every bit of _Heisenberg_ in the words, but it failed, and he found himself only staving off another coughing fit. How had he ignored Jesse for so long? And now it was too late…

"It's an incentive for you to keep finishing the batches for me," Cartwright replied. "And to keep your little cartel friends away from my men."

"I have no connections to the cartel."

"Like fuck you don't!" Cartwright raged, drawing a pistol from his holster. "You think I don't know you were involved – in a business way – with Gus Fring? And that he just so happened to get blown up by a cartel guy, in a wheelchair no less? I wonder how that transpired, _friend_." Cartwright spat on the ground and looked up to glare at Walt. "I don't like being fucked, White. So don't fuck me and I won't fuck you."

"I'm not planning anything of the sort." Walt's words came out more elitist than he intended; this seemed to be the theme of the day. He didn't need it to all come out right, though – he just needed this crazed maniac to untie Jesse and maybe move that gun away from the two of them, too. "I'd like to give you assurances, but you need to give me some, too. I need my partner in order to cook. I need you to untie him and give him to me."

"Not fucking likely."

Cartwright took the gun and aimed it at Walt, then appeared to change his mind and pointed it at Jesse. Walt took a slow step forward, trying to decide whether to rush him, whether to knock the gun from his hand, as Cartwright gripped the gun, fingered the trigger and fired.


End file.
